


Ready Made Partner

by Earl Faust of the Beacon (EarlFaust)



Series: Will I write more? Who knows [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sheriff/Stiles - one time event, Steter endgame, Underage Sex, defenseless coma patient, devious child, fucked up morality, might be continued, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlFaust/pseuds/Earl%20Faust%20of%20the%20Beacon
Summary: Stiles is a very precocious child who knows what the fuck he wants and how he wants it. And what he wants is a cock up his ass. He doesn't have a sex doll available, but that doesn't mean that there isn't something-one else available to him.





	Ready Made Partner

**Author's Note:**

> Author (the Earl Faust of the Beacon) is very much aware that this story is fucked up, thank you. This is a fantasy world, which is fun and potentially hot as fiction, but as no place in reality. Hence, writing fiction.
> 
> As I said in the tags: Dead dove: do not eat. As fanlore explains it: "this fic contains dead dove. if you proceed, you should expect to encounter it." If you read this, then you are aware that you're going to read about very underage children having sex. You have been warned twice. If you proceed and then complain, I'll consider you a brainless moron. 
> 
> That said, this was written all at once in a writing frenzy, because I had a sudden want to write wicked smut. I very rarely write smut though, so I don't know if the smut mood will strike up again later. If it does, I did write a summary of where I thought this could go, so I might even manage to continue the story :D

The first time Stiles gets fucked, he’s actually way,  _ way _ too young for it. 

He’s thirteen when the Sheriff comes home and gets drunk, once again. Stiles barely pays it any attention, because the man has been drunk in private almost every night since his wife died. Stiles tried at first, but after spending six months learning how to fend for himself (cooking, washing his clothes, ordering groceries, …), he decided that he had too much to do to save himself, to also save a grown ass man.

It might be callous and out of character, but Stiles is only loyal to those who are loyal back, and the Sheriff has only been loyal to his bottle in the last three years.

Stiles is looking up  _ stuff _ on the internet, when the half-closed door crashes open. He doesn’t have time to turn off the gay porn he’s been watching (he doesn’t even remember how he got to that website, he’s been link surfing all day, who the fuck knows). The Sheriff is ranting about something, about boy and porn and whatever. Stiles isn’t sure, he’s too busy panicking (at least, there haven’t been any gay slurs, he doesn’t think, so there’s that. As far as he can tell, his father is angry because Stiles is too young to... watch porn? He isn’t sure.)

“Dad?” he tries asking, but the man justs throws him back on the bed.

The laptop falls over the side. Stiles jerks forward, but doesn’t manage to catch it. 

He’s stretched on his stomach on his bed, when he hears a drawer slide open violently. He turns to see all his stuff tumble on the floor. His dad leans down, grabs something, then slaps it on the bed.

“If my son wants to learn how to be fucked,” John Stilinski slurs, “then he’ll damn well learn from something better than a goddamn two dollars porn downloaded off the internet.”

Stiles barely has time to process the declaration, before his pants are ripped off him.

“Dad!” he cries out again. The word is lost as fabric is pulled up over his head.

In one minute flat, he’s naked on his little bed, still on his front, back turned to his father and the rest of the room.

“Stop squirming,” John slurs again, slapping that little ass once.

Stiles freezes, wary, but he isn’t hit again. That first time didn’t even really hurt, only made his ass jiggle.

“What are you doing?” he asks again, though he already knows what’s going to happen. But his dad has ten time his bulk and… Stiles is still hard and excited from all the gay porn movies he’s watched all day. He kind of wants to know how it feels, too.

“If you’re going to be watching motherfucking porn,” there’s a sound like something is being unscrewed, “then you’re going to learn  _ right _ !” John swears.

Before Stiles can answer, there’s a cold, slimy finger touching his ass. He swears out loud and squirms a bit, but his father pins him down to the bed without letting him move an inch. The finger swirls around his hole a few times, then gently pushes inside, nice and steady.

“First rule is lube, a whole lot of lube, especially the first times.”

Oh god, is he going to get the sex talk while his father mounts him?!

“And careful about the lube. Some don’t mix up with condom and latex. Second rule, stretching.”

That finger is deep inside of him now. Everything is slick and hot. Stiles is breathless.

“The smallest your body, the more stretching you need, it’s just basic common sense. Don’t even let a guy take you dry. Keep yourself stretched and wet just in case, that’s what your mom used to do,” John whispers in his ear.

The idea makes Stiles shiver and not in a good way, so he focuses on the “stretched and wet” at all time idea. He can do that. (the idea excites him).

The next minutes are full of grunting and some moaning from Stiles’ part, but eventually his dad does have three fingers buried deep in his tight ass and he can’t believe this is happening. His cock hasn’t soften at all since before his dad barged into the room.

“Fuck, you feel good.” 

John pushes up and Stiles hears a zipper sliding down. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t try to close his legs from where his dad pushed them wide open either.

The cock pressing against his ass feels nothing like the huge dicks Stiles had been watching on the laptop. But then again, alcohol does that. 

When he sneaks a peek behind himself, he gets confirmation. His dad is only half hard, still looking huge next to Stiles’ tiny body, but nowhere near intimidating. 

The man grunts, pulling a few times on his cock. Stiles can’t tell if he’s trying to get harder, or just lubing himself up.

It doesn’t matter anyway. In the next moment, Stiles is pushed back into the bed, his hard little cock trapped under his body and the rough blanket, and a large body covers up from behind. His dad hasn’t even taken off his uniform, Stiles thinks absently, as a cock starts pressing against his hole.

It hurts a bit, at first. Only half hard or not, John Stilinski’ cock still feels large like a baseball bat, even as it’s slowly pushed inside Stiles’ little body. He takes deep breath and releases them slowly. He tries to relax his body as best he can. He keeps his legs spread as wide open as he can, to help stretch his hole open.

It feels fantastic.

By that point, his dad is reduced to grunts and moans. He doesn’t have the coordination to fully fuck Stiles, but it might just be as well, since he’d probably only slip out.

Stiles ignores the sharp feeling of regret that burns in his guts, as his ass is barely used, certainly not anywhere properly, and just concentrates on the warmth and wetness, and that thick meat buried in his body.

It’s finished way too soon, John Stilinski coming inside his son’s ass with a long groan. Then the man gets up and heads to the bathroom apparently on autopilot. A few minutes later, Stiles hears him come back out and then enter his bedroom. After that, the house is silent for the rest of the night.

Stiles’ hole burns just a little bit, but it’s more exciting than painful.

The next morning, John Stilinski absently says hello to his son, grabs a piece of toast as breakfast, and then heads out of the house to start his shift at the station.

Stiles is so damn disappointed that the alcohol erased his dad’s memories, that he throws a temper tantrum, alone in the house.

Half an hour later, he’s lying down on the carpet in the living room, staring at the ceiling, when he comes to the conclusion that it’s just as well, in the end. He would very much like to get fucked again, but his dad would never do it for real, if he were coherent at the time. And to be honest, John Stilinski’s alcohol sponged up dick wasn’t anywhere as satisfying as the large cocks he’s seen in the movies.

-

It takes Stiles two months, before he comes up with the perfect solution. His dad gives him the idea without even realizing it, and Stiles kinds of want to suck him off as reward. 

Obviously, he doesn’t. John Stilinski still remembers nothing and hasn’t made any other move like that, drunk or not. Stiles would rather avoid spending the next decade seeing a psychologist, thank you very much. He’s fully aware that he isn’t quite right in the head, because what kind of pervert would enjoy being raped by his drunk father at thirteen years old, but he doesn’t care.

The problem, really, is that Stiles is  _ thirteen years old _ . Meaning that he isn’t old enough to meet up with men he finds on the internet, and pedophiles are way too dangerous for him to risk himself. He could just as well end up being whisked away for the sexual slave trade. It’s a nice fantasy, but in reality Stiles would rather be able to enjoy his fat cocks and then being able to come home once he’s done.

He comes up with dozen of ideas all as useless as the other, before John mentions something that makes him jerks up in his chair, while they’re having dinner one Friday.

“It’s really disgusting, the way the State keeps firing people and not replacing them,” he rages one day. “A friend who works at the hospital confessed to me today that they had to shuffle the long term coma patients at the back of the building, in that small remnants buildings from the previous hospital, because they needed the space for actual people who might have a hope to get out of there. These days, they have barely enough personnel to take care of the patients once in the morning and check up on them once in the afternoon, and the rest of the time they’re all by themselves in that separate wing, like a bunch of catatonic zombies, and-”

The sheriff suddenly shuts up, stopping his rant mid-sentence, as he realizes again that his wide eyed audience is in fact his thirteen years old son.

“Shit. Forget I said this, kid,” he mumbles in his plate. 

The rest of the dinner is spent in silence.

John looks about to speak up a few time, as Stiles starts putting away the dishes in the machine, but he eventually just shakes his heads and goes in the living room. The liquor cabinet’s door makes a loud noise in the silent house.

Stiles hurries up to his room as soon as possible.

This! This is the answer to all his problems!

Well, maybe. But first, he needs to learn more about what is exactly a coma, what are the sign, how long it lasts/how people wakes up, and more importantly,  _ how their bodies react while in coma _ .

Three days later, Stiles has missed school because he couldn’t get away from his computer. When his dad calls because the school called  _ him _ , Stiles doesn’t even have to fake being sick. After three days without talking and barely eating or drinking, his voice sounds gravely and weak enough that the man doesn’t question him. Stiles promises that he’s alright and the sheriff apologizes several time for being stuck at work by a string of robberies. He’s distracted though, Stiles can hear a deputy calling for him in the background, and he doesn’t push when Stiles swears to him that he’s already feeling better and it’s Friday anyway, he’ll have the whole weekend to get back on his feet.

It would be distressing, if it didn’t work so well into Stiles’ plans.

And anyway, he’s too old for a babysitter and he has no friends which means no parents at which home he could stay, so it’s not like they have a choice.

Moving on.

-

That first evening, Stiles does recon (well, it was supposed to be  _ only _ recon, and well…).

Which actually means that he sneaks into the long term ward and checks out if what his dad said about there being no guard is true.

Unbelievably, it is.

The “wing” is very small. It’s actually the last remaining part of the old hospital building, that the town hadn’t destroyed for some weird reason, Stiles hasn’t bothered looking it up. It’s dwarfed by the actual, current hospital, and also separated from the old building by a hastily build covered hallway. Which mostly mean that coming here takes times which the nurses already do not have. 

Stiles shows up at four in the afternoon, slipping inside easily because a side entrance is only closed with a flimsy lock and he’s the sheriff’s son, he’s learn how to pick open a door years ago.

The building doesn’t quite give off a haunted and/or horror movie feel, but they’re only a few busted light bulbs away from it. Stiles goes left, away from the main hospital.

Five hours later, he’s only seen one nurse, and she went through the ward at the speed of light, mostly only opening the doors, looking inside if the patients had moved, and then moving onto the next room. Ten minutes later, she’s gone again. 

Stiles takes it like he isn’t going to be bothered again for a long while.

He checks if there are any cameras, but it’s only really because he likes to be careful, but where the hell would Beacon Hills have found the money for that, when they can’t even pay the nurses.

Half of the rooms later, he’s starting to get antsy. This is the best option he’s got, but none of those patients would have satisfied his needs. He’s also vain enough that he wants a half good looking one. Which he is aware is a tall order.

Five minutes later, after another three rooms which turns out to be useless and/or empty, Stiles hits jackpot.

He forces himself to close the door and continue checking out the place, because he’s thorough like that.

Soon enough, he’s back to that room.

Funnily enough, the room itself is perfect. It’s at the very end, in a curve of the hallway, so that it’s hidden from view until you gets barely a few meters from it. And the building is so old and silent, the doors make a huge noise when the nurses open and close them. Stiles will hear them coming right from the start.

The man in there is alone. It makes sense, with the weird architecture of that part of the building, the room is small and almost triangular. The man’s bed takes almost all the place and leaves barely some space to move around it. There’s only the tiniest window showing a sliver of sky, high in the wall. It’s a really fucking depressing and solitary room, Stiles is grateful that the man is deeply “asleep”.

“Peter Hale”, the nurses notes in the corner of the bed say. Comatose since two years ago, no next of kin available registered. 

Stiles can barely contain himself, he’s so excited.

After one last check in the hallway, Stiles closes the door again and goes to stand next to the man.

And then ends up having to move to the other side of the bed, and use the small bedside table wedge in the corner there as stepping stone, because he’s not actually tall enough to get himself up on it otherwise. 

Never mind that, all that matter is that he’s sitting next to mister Hale -Peter- a minute later.

Peter Hale probably looked good enough to be a model, before whatever it was, burned half of his face and probably his body too. Stiles makes a mental note to look it up when he goes home. As it is, he doesn’t look  _ bad _ per se, more like… dishevelled, sort of? And the burnt skin gives him a sort of waxy look. 

Stiles shrugges to himself. Who cares how Peter looks like. To be honest, even with the burns, Stiles likes what he sees anyway. And the best part is not Peter’s  _ face _ .

It’s the work of a minute, to push away the blankets, since they aren’t tucked in anyway. Peter is wearing the standard sort-of-paper-tissue gown, which, again, is easy to push away. Easy to deal with for the nurses, easy to deal with for Stiles.

As he thought, the burns continue down the man’s body, more on his right side than the left. It’s not really important, and the best part is free clear of any scars.

Stiles kneels between Peter Hale’s legs, thankful for his small body. It’s a tight fit, between Peter and himself, but it works. That’s all that matters. And there Stiles is, staring down at a beautiful looking, nicely shaped soft cock.

His mouth is watering.

Since that night with his dad, Stiles has watched -privately- as much good porn as he could get his hands on. He’s even watched legitimate sex lessons. He knows  _ everything _ about sucking cock (okay, probably not, but he can certainly rival any teenager in his area).

Peter’s cock is soft when he touches it, and doesn’t react at first. Stiles’ takes his time, exploring it, learning it, tasting it. He laps at it and gently sucks on the large head, moaning at his first real taste of cock. His hands run along Peter’s legs and crotch, feeling the delicious friction of coarse hair against his soft hands. Peter’s cock starts filling up, raising slowly until Stiles doesn’t need to hold it up with his hands.

He had plans. He had a detailed outline of his evening (in his head. He’s not stupid), about how he’s only going to check out the place, find the weaknesses, find if there’s anyone suiting his needs, then leave quietly.

Stiles thinks fuck the plan, as he pushes his pants down, getting caught in his shoes in his excitement. 

By that time, Peter’s cock is fully hard and weeping eagerly down on his stomach.

Stiles grabs the lube he statched in his backpack, just in case, as his dad taught him, and refreshes his already stretched and lubed up hole. He might not have had an available cock to sit on since his father apparently repressed everything, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be prepared. Stiles is always as prepared as he can be in everything, even his homework is always done way ahead as he can.

It’s probably stupid to jump straight to the last step, but Stiles doesn’t have the patience to go slow anymore. He had ideas for blow jobs and rubbing off and intercrural sex and stuff, but those will have to wait for another day. He’s got the whole weekend ahead.

He shuffles forward, straddling Peter’s stomach, then slides back a bit. It takes some gymnastic to get everything lined up because Stiles is small for his age, but eventually he manages to rise up and line up Peter’s cock, while also holding steady said cock from behind himself. A moment later, he pushes once, then twice, then on the third pass, the thick head pops into his ass suddenly. 

Stiles’ breath catches. His body is hesitating between “does this hurt or do I want more”, so he takes a moment to just breath. Peter’s hard cock feels  _ nothing _ like John Stilinski’s alcohol struggling one did.

A moment later, Stiles forces his body to relax some more, and he’s sliding down gently.

Stiles stares up at the ceiling, eyes wide and unseeing. This is… extraordinary. He’s sitting on a man’s cock, full on sitting, his ass is touching Peter’s crotch, and this hard, hot rod is so deep inside of him. His eyes flutter shut as he moans low and long.

It takes a while for Stiles to get his trembling legs under control. He ends up merely moving his ass in gentle circles for a while, since he can’t seem to be able to raise himself up. Feeling this fat cock rub  _ everywhere _ inside of him isn’t exactly a hardship, though. After some time, he eventually does manage to push himself, just a bit. The drag of it against his swollen hole is exquisite, and when he lets himself fall back down, it’s even better. He gets a rhythm going, eventually. It’s slow, because his legs are still unsteady, and every drag of Peter’s cock inside of him makes him moan and tremble, but it works. Oh, it works so well, it feels  _ so good _ .

Some time later, he comes. 

He has no idea how long he’s been riding Peter, but his thighs burn (he’s going to have to get some muscles on himself, if he wants to make it really good). Stiles comes with a rush, feeling light headed and falling back down on Peter’s cock when he can’t hold himself up anymore. His ass squeezes Peter’s cock uncontrollably, making it feel like it’s three times as big, and Peter must like it too, because the man comes deep inside of Stiles ass. If feels  _ so fucking good _ . 

Stiles can’t move. He’s spent, he has no energy left. Who the fucks care anyway, he’s comfortable there, maybe a bit sensitive, but Peter still feels good inside of him. The man’s cock, actually, doesn’t seem to be softening all that much (maybe Stiles can take another ride on it later, once he doesn’t feel like a weak baby deer anymore). Stiles leans forward, lying down on Peter. He ends up napping on the man, still impaled on his cock. He could easily grow to love this position, he thinks absently, as he dozes.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by various smutty gifs from Tumblr, these two among others:  
> <https://steterinspiration.tumblr.com/post/164452388086/hornybiguy108-david-has-come-to-accept-the-way>  
> <https://steterinspiration.tumblr.com/post/164453034281/cumstuds-innocent-delivery-twink-raped-raw-by>
> 
> obviously, those links are very much NSFW!!
> 
> -
> 
> Fair warning: I won't answer comments asking for more/when the rest is coming.


End file.
